


A Merry Little Christmas

by tigerlady (shetiger)



Category: NCIS
Genre: Christmas, Episode Related, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-09
Updated: 2010-01-09
Packaged: 2017-10-14 14:48:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/150416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shetiger/pseuds/tigerlady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony's trying to figure out what to get Dolores. McGee is inspirational in more than one way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Merry Little Christmas

"How about an Age Revitalizing Total Skin Care System?" Tony's down to the last catalogue in the last stack, this bunch pilfered from the lounge at NCIS itself. Things aren't looking any more promising than they had two days ago, when he'd suddenly remembered this whole stupid Santa thing. On a positive note, he has found a nice selection of scented massage oils that might be good to have on hand for _special_ occasions. "With a proprietary anti-aging peptide complex, pure essential oils, and superior moisturizing properties. Every woman's gotta want something like that, right?"

Tim sighs. Loudly. "So you're going to give her something that says she looks old? Sounds like a sure-fire winner to me."

"Huh. Okay, maybe not." Tony folds down the corner of the page anyway; it doesn't say it's exclusively for women, after all. Not that _he_ looks old, but it's never too early to think about that kind of thing. He thumbs through the final few pages without much enthusiasm, and sure enough there aren't any better prospects, for Dolores or himself. "Remind me why I signed up for this thing again?"

"Because you thought you could rig it to draw Cathy from accounting?" Tim's smirk is absolutely evil. "Or was it Sheila?"

Tony narrows his eyes. "I still don't believe that you didn't have something to do with that. Especially after you sold me out to Dolores. Low blow, man. Not cool at all."

"Okay, first, I had absolutely nothing to do with the Santa hat--not that I'm upset that you didn't get to cheat the system _again_ \--and second, I was doing you a favor." Tim tucks his hands behind his head, evil smirk turning into something much more smug as he relaxes back in his chair. "You totally would have chickened out if you didn't know that she knows that you're her Santa, and then you would have felt guilty for the whole next year."

"I don't do guilt," Tony pouts. He tosses the catalogue onto the left stack, the small selection that he found interesting enough to give another look. "Come on, McGee. You've got to have a better idea of what she'd like. You're much more in touch with your feminine side than I am, after all."

"That's not exactly a bad thing, Tony."

Tony holds his smile inside. He loves it when the result of his nettling is one more layer of uptight Probiness dropping away, but Tim doesn't need to know that. "Yeah, well, use it then. What's the best present you ever got in one of these things?"

Tim shrugs. "I don't know. The inspirational sayings calender I got from Gibbs, I guess."

"That's completely lame." Panic surges up as he realizes what he said. Tony spins around, but by some cosmic grace, Gibbs isn't lurking anywhere within hearing distance. As far as he can tell, anyway. He peeks over the divider behind him, but no, still no Gibbs. He really hopes that bit of fortune hasn't exhausted all of his good luck for the rest of the year. He's still got to find a stupid gift for Dolores. Well, not a _stupid_ gift, which is exactly the problem.

"It's just supposed to be something small and fun, Tony," Tim continues, completely ignoring Tony's momentary attack of (completely justified) paranoia. "Why are you so fixated on getting her something good, anyway? You don't even like her."

"I don't dislike her!" Tony says, affronted. He's an evolved guy, he really is, and he tries very hard not to dislike people unless they're actually evil. Kind of like the eyebrow Tim aims at him. "I...just don't particularly like her, that's all. She always has her mean face on."

"And my point remains. Just get her a gift certificate to Bath and Bodyworks or something."

"Oh, McPedestrian. Is that where you buy your Femme Glow?" Tim rolls his eyes and turns back to his computer. Tony sighs; it's not like he really thought that Tim would be able to come up with an amazing idea, anyway. Yeah, he's made huge steps up from the unsocialized geek he was just a few years ago, but Dolores is a special challenge. Maybe that's why Tony's so determined to find something good for her, something she'll like. He is a detective, after all. This is exactly the kind of thing he should be good at.

It absolutely has nothing to do with the time when he bumped into her racing for the ladies' room a couple weeks ago, tissue wadded up in her hand and mascara streaked around her eyes. Nothing at all.

"I know it's silly, and you're going to make fun of me," Tim says a few minutes later. "But actually, the best present I ever got at work was getting to play around with that Beary Smiles doll. Childhood dreams are powerful stuff."

The lightbulb that goes on is almost blinding, it's so bright. Tony blinks for a second, then grins and starts typing. There's got to be something in Dolores's personnel file-- There. A sister listed as emergency contact. She's _got_ to know something. "McGee, you're a genius," he crows, drumming his hands against the desk before reaching for the phone. It only takes fifteen minutes to wheedle his way into Agnes Bromstead's good graces--if only her sister were so receptive--and get the story. Another ten on the phone with a specialty shop Google was kind enough to point him to, and the doll is winging its way across the country, albeit with a very hefty price tag attached.

Tony kicks his feet up on the edge of the desk and glows in Tim's direction. "Done, done, and done!"

"I take it you're done?" Tim says, all dry sarcasm with a hint of superiority.

"So very done," Tony agrees. "Thanks to you. I could kiss you, McGee."

Tim's eyebrows go up--and then his face relaxes, all soft and happy and warm. He should look goofy with that sappy smile, but he doesn't. "Don't see any mistletoe around, Tony. You'll have to take a rain check."

Their gazes lock, and for that moment Tony doesn't think Tim's joking. It's crystal clear in his mind's eye: a toasty fire, some hot cocoa with tiny marshmallows, a doorway with a bright sprig of mistletoe.

"I did not realize that being the probie means that I'm the only one who has to do work. I should have taken better advantage of McGee when I had the chance," Ziva gripes from across the room. Tony snaps his head around just as she's tossing a stack of folders onto her desk. "Santa shopping again, Tony?"

He drops his feet to the floor and stalks over to her desk, picking up the top file of her stack. "I just finished, actually. Found the perfect thing, too."

"Well, good." Ziva snatches the file out of Tony's hand. He snatches his hand back and glares at her; papercuts from those folders are not something to be flirted with. "I'm sure you will enjoy watching her open it tomorrow night, then."

"Oh, God. I forgot I have to give it to her in person." Tony glances over at Tim--the meet-up is all his fault, after all--but Tim's very clearly avoiding him now. Interesting. _Very_ interesting.

Maybe he has something better than Dolores's reaction to occupy his thoughts.

*****

Tony's kicked back at his desk, enjoying the glow of a job well done and pondering whether he should embark on a more daring venture, when Abby and her friends come clattering down the stairs from MTAC more noisily than eight reindeer on a roof. He holds up a hand, lazily waving, but they don't seem to notice him at all. Not until they're loaded up on the elevator and Abby sticks her head out for a quick, "Merry Christmas, Tony!" before disappearing behind the closing doors like Santa up a chute.

"And that's before she's hit the Red Bull punch," Tim says from behind him.

Tony doesn't jump. It's more that he reacts quickly, with reflexes honed from years in the field. He drops his feet to the floor and swivels around, mouth open for a perfect comeback--but he's drawn up short by the pair of lips tattooed in red on Tim's cheek.

"Things get a little hot and heavy up there, McFlirty?"

"Hmm?" Tim's still smiling at the elevator, all fond and patriarchal. Though surely he'd be down in the lab with them if he was planning to dandle anyone on his knee later tonight.

"I'm pretty sure that shade looks better on Abby," Tony says, gesturing at Tim's cheek. He sounds jealous to himself, which is all kinds of ridiculous. It's not like he's even thought beyond the planning stages of this crazy idea. Okay, he totally has, but that's not the point. (He's not really sure what the point is, but when he figures it out, it's going to go into DiNozzo's Rules.)

Tim wipes at his cheek, rolling his eyes when his fingers come away red. "Abby," he says, like it wasn't obvious. "You know how she gets when she's happy with you."

Yeah, he does, but he's also never been inside her coffin. "So are you guys...?" Tony bobs his eyebrows.

"Are we...what?" Honestly, sometimes Tony's surprised Tim made it out of high school, let alone into a position where he's allowed to carry a gun on a daily basis. But then Tim obviously gets it, face flushing the palest pink. "Get your mind out of the gutter, DiNozzo. Abby and I are just friends."

Tony sighs. "Yeah, okay," he says, and opens his gun drawer. All the feel-good energy from before has drained out of him. Momentary fit of jealousy aside, he's pretty sure Tim's telling the truth, but for some reason that just makes his earlier enthusiasm seem all the more crazy. Tim's a nice, friendly guy, always there for his co-workers, and that's all there is to it.

"So, uh. I was thinking," Tim says. "I don't have any plans tonight, and I don't remember you saying anything about any, so do you maybe want to get a bite to eat together? We can do Mario's again."

Tony licks his lips. Stupid, stupid gut, swan-diving like that. "You really think a guy like me doesn't have--" he starts, but Tim's open backpack catches his eye. There's a small, clear plastic box poking up from behind the flap, and Tony's pretty sure he recognizes the be-ribboned green plant inside. He tears his gaze away from it and smiles at Tim. "You know what? Mario's sounds fantastic."

"Great!" Tim's grin is almost as florescent as the time he fell asleep wearing the whitener strips. "I'm starving."

They pack up quickly, and if Tony stands a little too close for just friends in the elevator, it doesn't seem to bother Tim. "So," Tony says as the car lurches into motion, "you never said what you got from your Santa. Didn't crazy polygraph lady draw you?"

"Susan," Tim says, rolling his eyes. Tony's not sure if the expression is for him or her. "Yeah, I don't think it worked out exactly the way she was hoping for."

"So what did she get you?"

The doors open. Tim steps out, then turns back towards Tony. "Maybe I'll show you later," he says slyly, and turns away before Tony can react.

Okay, that does it. If both of them aren't operating from the Make the Yuletide Gay handbook, he'll... Well, he'll probably never show his face at work again. But he's got a Gibbs-like gut feeling about this.

"Hey, Tim," he says, jump-skipping to catch up. "What are your feelings on marshmallows in hot cocoa?"

END


End file.
